


Eighth Year

by jedistarfleet (starfleetjedi)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 05:56:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18515290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfleetjedi/pseuds/jedistarfleet
Summary: Hermione was going to mind her business and stay out of trouble this year. After all, the point of returning to Hogwarts for "eighth year" was to sit her NEWTS, which would then pave her way to a respectable job in the Ministry of Magic. But after running into Draco Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express, would she be able to stick to her goals?





	1. Chapter 1

Taking the train to Hogwarts without Harry and Ron wasn’t an entirely new experience. After all, the two mischievous boys did miss their ride during their second year. But Hermione still felt it strange, like the broken tradition somehow signaled an irreparable change. She had waved to her fellow “eighth years”--Neville, Luna, Dean, and a couple of Ravenclaws whose names escaped her--as she passed by their compartment, but she hadn’t asked to join them. Ginny, having accepted the role of Head Girl, was off meeting the prefects and was unable to accompany Hermione in her search for an empty compartment. 

Hermione didn’t mind the solitude, and actually preferred it. She had spent the summer with the Weasleys and Harry following the war, and after months of trying to figure out ways to restore her parents’ memories, the healers at St. Mungo’s deemed the endeavor too risky. So Wendell and Monica Wilkins would stay in Australia, and Hermione sadly had to accept that her well-meaning decision to Obliviate them for their protection would be permanent.

She passed compartment after compartment of jolly underclassmen, most of them swapping stories of their exciting summers, speculating about who would become the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and wondering about the state of the school so soon after the war.

“I hear they’re demolishing the Astronomy Tower. It’s been over a year since Professor Dumbledore... _you know_. But they’ve finally decided,” a young Gryffindor girl whispered to her friend just before their compartment door closed.

“Do you think we’ll even have a Defense Against the Dark Arts class at all? You-Know-Who is gone. What’s there to defend?” A fifth-year Hufflepuff asked his companions, who looked at him incredulously. Hermione stifled the urge to roll her eyes, and continued on her search for an empty, or at least a non-crowded, compartment.

Hermione was going to mind her business and stay out of trouble this year. After all, the point of returning to Hogwarts was to sit her NEWTS, which would then pave her way to a respectable job in the Ministry of Magic. She had her eyes on a few departments, and was hoping this year would help her narrow down her choices. Technically, her Order of Merlin, First Class, would have been enough recommendation to get her into whichever department she desired, but unlike Harry and Ron who had jumped at the offer by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she wanted to earn her position, whatever it may be. Not that risking her life hunting down Horcruxes wasn’t admirable, but Hermione was never one to use and abuse her titles.

She peered into a compartment, briefly wondering why one was empty in the crowded train, but quickly realized why. Draco Malfoy, clad in a crisp, dark suit, was sitting still as a statue by the window and scowling at the blur of trees as they whizzed by. She hesitated—perhaps she should leave him alone? She hadn’t seen him since she and Harry testified at the Malfoy trial two months ago. He had been just as pale, quiet, and stoic as he looked now. He hadn’t so much as looked up at the Wizengamot when Lucius Malfoy was sentenced to twelve years in Azkaban, but she noticed that he had sighed in relief when Narcissa was sentenced to five years of house arrest.

She slowly slid the compartment door open, but he didn’t move. If he had heard her, he didn’t seem to mind the intrusion. She figured that if he didn’t want company, he would shoo her away. When he didn’t so much as glance in her direction, she stowed her backpack into the overhead bin and plopped herself down on the seat across him and closest to the door, far away from him.

She opened her mouth to say something, but found she was at a loss for words. What was she supposed to say? _How was your summer?_ _Looking forward to NEWTS? Why are you here?_ No, that was rude and intrusive. She didn’t know the details of his sentence, only that he had avoided Azkaban and house arrest due to his age and the fact that he hadn’t seemed at all willing to become a Death Eater. Harry and Hermione’s testimonies in his and Narcissa’s favor certainly helped. Perhaps he was _ordered_ to return to Hogwarts. If a former—albeit _unwilling_ —Death Eater was allowed back into the school, were other Slytherins in their year back, too?

As if on cue, Malfoy sharply turned his head and caused Hermione to jump in her seat. For a second, she thought she had voiced her last thought and he had heard. But he looked surprised to see her there, as if he had expected anyone, even Voldemort himself, but her. 

“Hi,” Hermione squeaked. _Hi?_ She hadn’t known what to say because he had caught her by surprise.

His brows knitted in bewilderment.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snuck in. Everywhere else was full,” she continued after clearing her throat. She shouldn’t be showing him fear. She wasn’t afraid of him. If anything, he should be afraid of her. Or at least grateful, especially after what she did for him at his trial.

His eyes darted to the door, as if making sure no one was standing outside to block his escape. A gaggle of giggling Gryffindor girls skittered by, oblivious to the tension in the compartment. He relaxed and said softly, “It’s fine. Just you?”

Hermione nodded. “Harry and Ron are in Auror training. I guess the Ministry can overlook NEWTS when it comes to them,” she attempted to chuckle but it came out sounding like a cough. Why was she nervous? She fidgeted with her robes, suddenly wishing she hadn’t put it on so early in the day.

He sneered at the mention of Harry and Ron but didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned back in his seat and resumed looking out the window. She took this as a sign that she was welcome to stay, but their conversation was over. At least he hadn’t said or done anything hostile 

She opened her copy of _Advanced Numerology and Grammatica_ and resolved to read in silence. They would arrive at Hogsmeade station in five hours. Plenty of time to get through half the textbook. For the next hour, she and Malfoy pointedly ignored each other. She read her book and he when he decided she could be trusted not to hex him when his guard was down, he closed his eyes for a quick nap. When the lunch trolley wheeled by, she was so focused on her book that he had to nudge her foot to get her attention. He asked her if she wanted anything, but she was so surprised that he was suddenly speaking to her that she had immediately said no and inwardly regretted it. The trolley witch asked if she was sure, and somehow Hermione thought to double down on her lie and insisted she wasn’t hungry. Malfoy bought himself two beet, spinach, and goat cheese sandwiches and a bottle of pumpkin juice.

Hermione raised her textbook higher in an effort to avoid watching him scarf down his scrumptious sandwiches. She tried to ignore the sound of a sandwich wrapper being crumpled and the fizz of the pumpkin juice when he opened the bottle, but her treacherous stomach started to grumble. When she heard a snigger terribly disguised as a sniff and a snort, she was mortified. Still, she proceeded to read and hoped it would distract her long enough to make her forget she was hungry.

Soon, the silence of the compartment, the monotony of the textbook, and her nagging hunger took its toll. She had only meant to stretch out more comfortably on the seats, and it didn’t look like Malfoy minded whatever she chose to do on her side of the compartment. But apparently she had drifted off to sleep because she was jolted awake when she felt herself rolling off the seats. She clutched the textbook lying open on her chest and looked around to make sure no one had seen her jerking. Malfoy was not in the compartment, but his cloak and bag were still in the overhead bin.

She slowly sat up and felt something soft plop on her lap. Looking down, she saw that it was one of Malfoy’s wrapped sandwiches. She inexplicably felt a lump in her throat, but smiled as she started to unwrap the sandwich. 

* * *

Draco hated Hogwarts, but not as much as he hated Malfoy Manor. It seemed that all the walls were tainted with Dark magic, because he couldn’t find peace wherever he looked when he was at home. In fact, the Manor no longer felt like home.

When the Wizengamot decided that there was probably something worth redeeming in him, he had avoided Azkaban and house arrest. Instead, he was ordered to return to Hogwarts one last time. He welcomed this sentence, eager to put some distance between himself and the cursed house.

Renovations were still underway at Hogwarts, and a large portion of the Malfoy fortune, as well as his aid, was “offered” to the cause. NEWTS didn’t matter, not really, for a former Death Eater. There was no expunging that record, and potential employers will always associate the Malfoy name with the Dark Lord. In essence, his future was shot, but that didn’t mean he had given up entirely. Once the Ministry had gotten its fill of his family’s vault, there would be nothing left for him and his mother. And he needed to make sure his mother was taken care of. So he had to _try_ —try not to fuck up this time, try not to get on the bad side of the Ministry, try not to get expelled from Hogwarts until he completed his probation.

Draco had made many bad decisions in his youth, but this year would be different. He would keep his head low, do what was asked of him by McGonagall per the terms of his probation, and get through the year in one piece. Seemed easy enough. That was until he turned in his seat and met the warm brown eyes of Hermione Granger.

She had jumped like a scared dormouse, and when she told him that there would be no Golden Trio this year, he was relieved. He had expected Potter and Weasley to come barging into the compartment after her, and maybe beat him up for invading her space even though he was there first. Then again, Potter had actually testified in his favor, as did Granger, so perhaps they were past their childhood rivalry. He was still wary of Weasley, though.

He didn’t know what to say to Granger. She was awfully quiet this time. Wasn’t she usually chatty? She was always chattering about something to anyone who’d listen during meal times in the Great Hall. Not that he spent most of his time observing her, but it was hard not to notice a bushy-haired girl who chewed her food so fast just so she could talk more. Crabbe and Goyle had once placed bets on how fast she could eat her kippers during breakfast before she launched into a lecture about the effects of unprotected long-term exposure to mandrakes.

She pulled on her left sleeve. It was a subtle movement, but he noticed. He heard her screams in his head, remembered the sick way his Aunt Bella carved _MUDBLOOD_ on her arm with a cursed knife. He wondered if she had scars, if her left arm was just as marred as his. The screams got louder. He leaned back and closed his eyes, willing himself to think of anything but that memory. _I’m sorry_ , he should have said to her right there and then. He hadn’t had the chance during the past four months. Not during the battle after the trio saved him from the Fiendfyre, not during the trial, or after. He could have sent an owl, but he was a coward. Still a coward.

He had a year to figure out how to thank her. It was the least he could do, and he knew it still wouldn’t be enough. What did she even think of him? Was she pitying him right now, being the lone Slytherin in his year? Did she think he was disgusting for even daring to show his face in Hogwarts after what he had done? The nerve of him to set foot in the place where he had aided in the assassination of Albus Dumbledore.

After ignoring each other for hours, Granger eventually bored herself to sleep with her Arithmancy textbook. He hadn’t even noticed that she had sprawled out across the seat until he heard her snore. Half her face was buried in her messy curls, but she managed to breathe through it somehow. She wasn’t bad to look at. She had soft features, which surprised him because he had always thought she would be all hard lines and wrinkles. Wasn’t she always frowning at Potter and Weasley? Her lashes were incredibly thick and long, and if he leaned forward a bit, he would be able to count the freckles across her button nose. Her plump pink lips were slightly opened…

Draco noticed his neck growing hot. The compartment was stifling, and he desperately needed to get fresh air. He placed his extra sandwich on her belly and hastily made his way out, making sure to escape as quietly as possible. Stupid girl should’ve ordered food off the lunch trolley. The entire train knew she was hungry with how loud her stomach gurgled. Now he had to look for a snack somewhere. Perhaps at the other end of the train.

He kept his eyes down as he traversed one end of the train to the other. He wasn’t certain where he was aiming to go, really, just that he had to put some distance between himself and Granger. Perhaps he would bump into the trolley witch, but he realized that in his haste, he had forgotten to take his coin purse with him.

Boisterous laughter boomed from the compartment to his right, and he looked over just in time to see familiar faces stare back at him, laughter and smiles quickly extinguished from their faces. His eyes landed on the pale blonde girl’s. Luna Lovegood, one of the prisoners of Malfoy Manor. He averted his gaze and recognized the others—Longbottom, the Thomas boy, and other eighth years. While Lovegood smiled, the others were scowling. He briskly fled, but not before he heard the compartment door slide open and a soft female voice call out to him. He ignored her and kept walking. 

* * *

Hermione had long finished the sandwich before Malfoy returned to the compartment. She thought he looked forlorn, but he had schooled his features into a scowl in an instant. He sank back into his spot and resumed staring out the window.

She cleared her throat. “Er—thank you. For the sandwich,” she said meekly. She knew she was blushing, but didn’t know why. She thought perhaps it was the embarrassment of having been fed by a classmate whom she barely knew.

He waved his hand dismissively. “I thought you had passed out from starvation. You couldn’t wait another few hours until Hogwarts?”

She had a sharp retort on her tongue, but she bit it back when she saw that his lips were slightly upturned and there was a mad glint in his eyes. “Dinner isn’t for another six hours. I would be dead by then, Malfoy.” She couldn’t help but smile.

He still didn’t meet her eyes, but he did allow himself to grin. “When we get to Hogwarts, could you tell McGonagall that I saved your life? That would go a long way towards my tally of good deeds this year.”

“Is that why you’re back? There are conditions?” Hermione couldn’t help herself. Her curiosity overrode her manners too often and too fast. She hadn’t thought about how aggressive her question had come across until Malfoy wiped the grin off his face. Instantly, she covered her hand with her mouth. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. It’s really none of my business.”

Instead of hostility as she had expected, Malfoy shifted in his seat so his body was facing hers. Opening up to her. She perked up at the change in the mood, like she was about to be privy to a long-kept secret.

His face had softened, and she knew he had known to expect the question from her. He finally met her gaze, his steely blue gray eyes boring into her. Harry had mentioned that Malfoy was a skilled Occlumens, but was he a Legilimens, too?

“I assume you know that I am on probation.” It was a declaration, but Hermione nodded at his words anyway. “One of the terms is that I return to Hogwarts and aid in the renovation any way I can. This means I am under the strict supervision of McGonagall.” His brow quirked up at his last statement.

Hermione’s lips formed an O. The implication wasn’t lost on her but she didn’t know why she was surprised. It seemed obvious that Malfoy would be put under surveillance while he was in Hogwarts. But just how strict?

As if to answer her unvoiced question, Malfoy continued, “Every night I am to submit my wand to a teacher for inspection. To make sure I haven’t dabbled in Dark magic, you understand? This also means I am banned from Hogsmeade, which doesn’t matter to me. I hardly think I’m allowed back at The Three Broomsticks.” He bristled slightly at his confession.

Hermione understood why. She had almost forgotten that he had placed Madam Rosmerta under the Imperius curse and forced her to aid the Death Eaters. But submitting his wand for inspection every night seemed like overkill. Malfoy had made mistakes, but continuously punishing him every day was counterproductive.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Malfoy’s voice broke through her train of thought. He was regarding her carefully now.

She shook her head, willing him to relax. “Sorry, it’s not you. I was just thinking about your punishment. It doesn’t sound fair, Malfoy.”

He shrugged. “The Ministry doesn’t care. Neither do I. You don’t think I deserve this, Granger? I thought you of all people would protest my return. I can imagine the Howlers that McGonagall is going to get once the students alert their parents to the presence of a Death Eater in school with them—”

“But you’re not!” Hermione interjected loudly and sharply that Malfoy went slack-jawed. She breathed in deeply before continuing, “You’re not a Death Eater. At least not anymore. And if everyone paid attention, they’d know that Harry and I made sure you were acquitted.”

Malfoy had dropped his gaze to the floor, and they sat in stunned silence for a bit. Hermione couldn’t look at him either due to shame for her outburst. She hadn’t meant to bring up his trial because she certainly hadn’t meant to make him feel insecure or feel that he owed her anything. She did what was right and honest, and knew that he would have never deserved Azkaban.

“Thank you,” he said. It was low, almost inaudible over the chugging of the Hogwarts Express and the chatter outside their compartment, but she heard it. She looked up and locked eyes with him once again. This time, his gaze was softer.

“Thank you, for what you did for me and my mother,” he said with more conviction. “I understand that you and Potter didn’t have to, but thank you for telling them.”

“For telling the Wizengamot the truth? That you lied about not recognizing Harry when we were captured, and that your mum lied to Voldemort about Harry being dead? Ironically, both your lies saved our lives, Malfoy.” Hermione wanted to hold his hand, or pat his back. He looked absolutely speechless and… _sad_. And she didn’t want him to be sad. Just like the rest of them, he had gone through trauma, too. Being on the other side of the war didn’t mean he deserved less humanity.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to do anything about Aunt Bella,” he lamented. His eyes flew to her left arm, and she knew what he was referring to. The experience had left her permanently branded. Just like her parents’ Obliviation, the healers at St. Mungo’s were also unable to erase the scar that Bellatrix Lestrange had etched into her forearm with a cursed blade.

Hermione rubbed her arm gently. “What could you have done? Bellatrix was a madwoman. Had you shown an ounce of sympathy for a _Mudblood_ , she would have killed me and put you under the Cruciatus.” She shook her head sadly. “It’s just a scar. I’m lucky to be alive.”

She smiled tentatively at him, to show that forgiveness was not beneath her. That he hadn’t needed to apologize in the first place. And she had accepted his thanks. He smiled back at her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the trip was spent in relative silence. However, Hermione soon found herself too distracted to keep reading her textbook, so she stowed it away in her bag and asked Malfoy which classes he most was looking forward to. He told her that he was interested in absolutely none of them, but was looking forward to however the Headmistress was going to deal with him.

“Professor McGonagall isn’t cruel,” Hermione reassured him. “She isn’t going to do anything unreasonable to you.”

Malfoy chuckled. “She was a strict professor and an unforgiving Head of Gryffindor House. You think she’d soften up now, as Headmistress?”

Hermione was about to retort when they both heard a knock on the compartment door. They whipped their heads to the door and found Ginny standing outside. She slid the door open and nodded at Hermione, who still sported a slight smile. She pointedly ignored Malfoy.

“I was looking for you. I just finished my meeting. Would you like to join me and the prefects up front?”

Hermione glanced at Malfoy, who had turned to look out the window once more and pretended not to exist. “Oh, er--actually, Ginny, I think I’ll stay here. We’re almost there, no point moving now.” In the corner of her eye, she noticed that Malfoy’s fists clenched.

Ginny’s eyes darted between Hermione and Malfoy, and they widened as if to silently ask her if she was alright and she hadn’t been Imperius’d into staying put. Hermione widened her eyes back, wordlessly conveying to Ginny that she was fine and Malfoy was safe. The few seconds of silence was awkward, and so was their nonverbal conversation, but Ginny got the hint and nodded her head slowly.

“Alright then. I’ll be up front if you need me. Neville and the others are a few compartments down. If you need anyone of us, just yell,” Ginny said, glancing at the back of Malfoy’s head, willing him to turn and try to convince her that he wasn’t going to hex Hermione as soon as she walked away.

“Gin,” Hermione grated, but Ginny had sheepishly waved and left their compartment. As soon as Hermione was sure the redhead was out of earshot, she groaned and turned to Malfoy. “I’m so sorry about that. She’s not usually so crass.”

Malfoy didn’t look as affronted as she had thought. “She won’t soon forget that it was my father who fed her to Tom Riddle’s diary. It will be a sunny day in Azkaban when a Weasley will look at me without hatred in their eyes.”

There was no sadness in his voice, but Hermione sensed resignation and misery. It was truly a bleak way to live, being forced to go back to a place where everyone hated him and to accept that it was just how things were supposed to be.

“You don’t really think that, do you?” she asked. “That you deserve all this hate? You don’t think you deserve a second chance? The Ministry and McGonagall think so. I can talk to Ginny and the others. They know what you and your mother did for us.”

Hermione stopped when Malfoy shook his head. “No, Granger, I don’t need you pleading my case to the Gryffindors.” The sharp and stony look he gave her was a warning, and for a second, she almost recoiled. But his eyes quickly softened and he sighed deeply. “I can take care of myself, and I certainly don’t need anyone’s approval this year. Just let it go.”

“Keep a low profile and get through the year, yeah?” she asked. His eyes brightened at her statement, and he smiled as he nodded.

She liked doing that, making him smile. A part of her wanted to keep doing that, and she didn’t exactly know why.

Malfoy looked down at his hands and twiddled his long fingers pensively. “You and I, we’ve been through hell and back since we were eleven. I don’t know about you, Granger, but I’d like one year to just... _be_.”

Hermione wholeheartedly agreed.

* * *

Around sunset, the Hogwarts Express reached Hogsmeade station. The Weasley girl and a couple of prefects passed by to herd a group of first years that were milling around the corridor towards the exit where Hagrid was eagerly awaiting to take them for the boat ride across the Black Lake. Draco missed the tradition, and briefly wondered if he could have a do-overA re-christening. Maybe if he went through the rite of passage once more, but with different intentions in his heart and mind, that perhaps this school year would turn out decent.

He didn’t realize that Granger was speaking until he felt her hand on his shoulder. He looked up into her brown eyes. The same brown ones that only hours ago had nearly scared him half to death.

“Would you like to find a carriage with me?” she asked shyly. She withdrew her hand slowly and settled for fiddling with the strap of her bag.

He had spent half the waking day with her and they both emerged unscathed and surprisingly friendly, so what was another half hour? He gathered his belongings, shrugged his cloak on, and stood beside her by the door. He was suddenly aware of how little personal space there was in the cramped compartment. Granger was only a few inches shorter, but she had always seemed smaller. Apparently, everything he thought he knew about her was wrong. She wasn’t a wrinkled hag like Pansy had insisted, and she wasn’t an annoying know-it-all with dirty blood.

In fact, she had gone out of her way to make him feel welcome and somewhat normal. She had smiled at him numerous times that day, and even offered to talk to her friends about not treating him like an outsider. He couldn’t let her do that, of course. Malfoys, despite their wrecked reputation, still had an image to uphold. Being Muggleborn had nothing to do with it; he simply couldn’t have a member of the Golden Trio keep vouching for him. Once was enough.

They waited until the corridor was less crowded before making their exit. If he spent another second standing so close to her in that compartment, he would have definitely been able to count her freckles.

They didn't run into their fellow eighth years while making their way towards the carriages. They rode with a group of young Gryffindors who split their time staring at Granger with mouths open in awe, and staring at Draco with nervous contempt.

One of the Gryffindor girls asked Granger if she truly was _the_ Hermione Granger, because she looked different on _The Daily Prophet_. “You look amazing in real life,” the girl gushed, blushing slightly at her proclamation. Draco noticed that Granger had blushed, too, before graciously thanking the girl and assuring her that she was indeed _the_ Hermione Granger, back to finish her NEWTS.

“And you’re Draco Malfoy?” another girl chirped, eyeing Draco. He nodded and didn’t say anything else. That seemed to be enough for the rest of them because no one else spoke after that.

Once they were at the castle, Draco examined his surroundings and the students bustling past him to get to the Great Hall. He knew none of his former Slytherin classmates would be around, but it didn’t hurt to confirm one last time. In fact, there were far fewer Slytherins overall this year than there were two years ago.

Granger would be heading to the Gryffindor table soon. It wouldn’t make sense for her to sit with him, or for him to get an invitation to infiltrate her table. There was a slight dull ache in his chest when he realized this would be end of their companionship for the day. She wasn’t nearly as unpleasant company as he thought she would be. Quite the opposite, actually. It almost pained him to part with her.

“So, I’ll see you around?” she asked, stopping in her tracks just outside the Great Hall. She turned on her heel to face him completely, extending her arm out with a smile. He took it and shook firmly. Her hand was soft, smooth, and warm, just like her eyes, and he wondered if her face felt the same.

“See you around, Granger,” he managed to say without sounding like a sad, scared school boy. He even smiled back at her before finally releasing her hand. The gesture reminded him of his first year, when he attempted to extended his “friendship” to Harry Potter, but ended up with a stinging rejection. Granger never ceased to amaze him today.

She stepped into the Great Hall, looking over her shoulder at him one last time, before heading towards Longbottom and Thomas. Draco was about to head towards the Slytherin table when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned back and came face to face with Minerva McGonagall.

“Mister Malfoy, I’m glad you could join us.” Her tone was neither warm nor cold, but at least there was no hardness in her eyes. He took comfort in the fact that she hadn’t greeted him with outright animosity, even if that were within her rights. After all, he and his lot had a hand in the near destruction of her castle. “There are matters I wish to discuss with you after the feast. If you please, do head up to my office after supper.”

She nodded her head at him and patted his shoulder before she hurriedly left with a swish of her robes. This year would be busy for her—renovating Hogwarts, first year as Headmistress, and babysitting a former Death Eater. _Good luck, McGonagall_ , he thought wryly.

Draco kept his head low as he walked towards the Slytherin table. He sat near the younger students, hoping they would leave him alone. The older students were eyeing him warily, unsure what to make of him. He had missed his seventh year, but that didn’t mean no one knew of Draco Malfoy. Everyone had seen the Dark Lord embrace him at the courtyard during the battle.

He remembered the moment like it was yesterday. He had wanted to Disapparate and retch. The Dark Lord’s arms had been cold, and he smelled of death and ash. He had felt the judgment of everyone behind him, the students and teachers who watched incredulously as the Malfoys stood behind the serpent-like Dark wizard. Draco wished he could Obliviate everyone of that memory.

He didn’t pay much attention to the Sorting, but clapped when everyone else did. He tried not to look at the other tables, particularly at Gryffindor. But once or twice, he found his eyes straying towards the front where the eighth years were. Granger was sitting next to the Weasley girl, and they were both sporting huge smiles and clapped enthusiastically for every student sorted into their respective houses. He noticed that Weasley’s claps were weaker when a student was sorted into Slytherin, but Granger’s was unwaveringly whole-hearted.

McGonagall launched into her welcoming speech, before diving into responsibilities for students fifth year and up, who were expected to assist with school renovations. There were teams and schedules, which Draco didn’t deem too important to pay attention to. McGonagall also introduced professors old and new. Slughorn was still Potions professor and Head of Slytherin House. The Defense Against the Dark Arts post would be taught by a rotation of Aurors until a permanent one could take the position full time; this news had most of the student body ooh-ing and aah-ing at the exciting prospect of being taught by actual Aurors. Finally, she announced that Gryffindor House would be headed by a new professor, who would also be taking over the Transfiguration post. _McGonagall the Second_ , Draco thought.

“Everyone, help me welcome Professor Lorimer Fallon,” McGonagall exclaimed amidst the applause as the new professor stood and waved. The female population’s reaction was overwhelmingly loud. One could say Professor Fallon’s very warm welcome could rival that of the oaf Gilderoy Lockhart’s. Draco couldn’t help but steal a glance at Granger, and was surprised to find that she was already looking at him while clapping politely. However, she quickly looked away when their eyes met, and lent her ear to the Weasley girl who was excitedly shaking her by the robes and possibly screaming about the new dreamy Head of Gryffindor. There was a faint rosy tint on Granger’s cheeks, but Draco couldn’t be certain if it was from their brief eye contact or from whatever Weasley was saying.

_Don’t presume it’s about you, Draco_ , he thought ruefully to himself. He really had to rein in these errant thoughts before they evolve or manifest into something stupid. Professor Fallon was young—much younger than Lockhart had been when he taught at Hogwarts. And, Draco hated to admit, he had a rather handsome chiseled jaw, with a charming and warm smile that reached his eyes. The Hogwarts girls were going to swallow him whole. At that thought, he smirked.

* * *

Hermione had just finished unpacking her trunk when Ginny finally crept into the girls’ dormitory, looking as exhausted as a Head Girl would on her first day on the job. Hermione was glad she passed on the offer. Had she been younger, she would have pounced on it. But after the extraordinarily challenging year of camping with teenaged boys, chasing Horcruxes, and focusing on daily survival during the Second Wizarding War, she believed she deserved a relaxing year to concentrate on just her education. Besides, Ginny deserved the honor. The position should go to a seventh year, not an eighth year.

Ginny threw herself facedown onto Hermione’s bed and groaned. “I regret this decision, Hermione.”

Hermione chuckled and patted Ginny’s arm. “Oh, Gin, you know you’ve got this. The Headmistress wouldn’t have offered you the position if she didn’t think you could.”

Ginny lifted her head and peered at Hermione through tufts of bright red hair. “These first years, Hermione. They’re nothing like we were. They’ve got it in their heads that they can run this place just because a Gryffindor defeated You-Know-Who.” She crawled up into a sitting position. “I’m afraid to say this, but they’re almost as smug as Slytherins.”

At the mention of Slytherin, Hermione’s ears perked up and she stood straight at attention. This, Ginny noticed.

“Speaking of Slytherin,” the redhead started, her voice lowering as she crept closer to Hermione who suddenly busied herself folding her scarf. “What were you doing with Malfoy?”

Hermione cleared her throat and shrugged. “Everywhere else was full and he had a compartment all to himself. He wasn’t bad company.” She tried to school her tone and her expression. Straightforward, devoid of any emotion that could send Ginny’s thoughts spiraling into different directions. Truthfully, she didn’t know what Ginny should be thinking. There was absolutely nothing going on between herself and Malfoy. They were friendly, and that was it. She wasn’t sleeping with the enemy—Merlin, no! Definitely no _sleeping_. There was nothing in the school rules that prohibited co-mingling of different Houses. In fact, inter-House unity was greatly encouraged.

“He’s also working on his NEWTS. It makes sense to get to know him now, if he and I have to work together in some classes.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed and she grinned wickedly. “Are you going to be hanging out with him more?”

Hermione smiled down at Ginny. “Aw, Ginny. Are you worried that I’m going to replace you?”

Ginny giggled, grabbed Hermione’s pillow, and swatted her with it. “You’re stupid!” Hermione grabbed another pillow and hit the other girl back.

After a few minutes of light pillow fighting and helping Hermione put away her books and scarves, Ginny started to gush about the new member of the Hogwarts faculty.

“Isn’t he a dish, Hermione? I heard he graduated about three years before you started. One of the sixth years said he was featured in _Witch Weekly_ a few years ago. She might have brought a copy—I’ll have to see if I can confiscate it.”

“And what of this other bloke called _Harry Potter_?”

Ginny rolled her eyes and grinned conspiratorially. “What Harry doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Hermione laughed, elbowing Ginny’s arm. “I’m just teasing. You’re a hot-blooded teenaged girl. Crush on whomever you like; don’t let me stop you.”

“I could say the same to you,” Ginny said, suddenly serious. Hermione chose not to meet her eyes, but merely nodded.

“I’m here for my NEWTS and that’s it. I don’t have time for much else.” Hermione was suddenly tired. It had been a long day of traveling and she needed at least eight hours of sleep before classes the next day. She was also not in the mood to open another discussion to speculate on her newfound friendship with a certain Slytherin. Because in her mind, it wasn’t a big deal.

She and Ginny exchanged good nights before Ginny left for her private quarters. Hermione drew the drapes around her four-posted bed closed before burrowing into the warmth of her duvet. Tomorrow would be interesting. She was excited to start classes again; she missed lectures and homework, the scratching of her quill on parchment, and staining her fingers with ink. Her last thought for the day was wondering if she would run into someone with piercing silver blue eyes during her classes.


End file.
